


68th Annual Hunger Games

by emilythesmelly



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 68th Hunger Games, Captial, District 5, Gen, Hunger Games, Reaping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilythesmelly/pseuds/emilythesmelly
Summary: District 5's tribute Lightning Watts struggles through the games as she fights for her life.





	1. The Reaping

Today. Now. The alarms are blaring, telling us to assemble in front of the Justice Building. I look at my parents, who look back at me sadly. They have lived through this their whole lives, just as I have. The only difference is that my name is still in that bowl. Six times. My name is in that bowl six times.

"Come on, Lightning," my mother says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "It's time to go."

No sooner am I out the door than do I hear, "Hey, Lightning!"

I turn and am met with the always comforting sight of my best friend, Ian Berseri. "Hey, Ian!" I try to remain as cheerful as he is. He has a knack of keeping a smile in even the most depressing of times. Like today. "Ready for the Reaping?"

"Hey! The odds are in our favor, right?" he says with a chuckle. The Capitol's slogan was ridiculous because, out here in the districts, the odds are never in our favor.

"Yeah. Right," I agree sarcastically. We walk for a little while longer in silence.

"Who do you think it's going to be?" he asks, his tone more serious this time.

"How can I know that?" I ask, thinking of the hundreds of kids that will be assembled in front of the Justice Building today. "For their sakes, I hope it's someone older. The older kids always have better chances."

The lines come into view now. Everyone must sign in with a finger prick and go stand by age and gender. Before we get into our groups, Ian and I hug. We have every year since my name was put into that bowl, since Ian is a year older than I am. This will be his last year, and the supposed luck that it gives us will be needed more than ever. The hug cannot last long, as almost everyone is already in place. When we separate, before we turn our backs on each other, I realize that there is true fear in Ian's eyes. This shakes me to the core because I have never seen any semblance of fear in those bright eyes. I think that he realizes his façade has fallen because a smile immediately springs to his lips. I go in for another quick hug and then run off to my section.

In a few moments, Ambrosia Maddox is up on the stage. She is the escort assigned to District 5. Her ridiculous Capitol look stands out in the bleak surroundings. Of course, with Capitol fashion, that's kind of the point. Her skin has been dyed to a sickly grey. She sparkly, metallic paint or makeup on her eyes, shoulders, and knees. Her hair has been dyed white with black and grey lowlights, and her eyes are purple. Her costume mimics a wind turbine, and various purple jewels on it light up. "Welcome, District 5," she says in her distinct Capitol accent. "It is my honor to be here in preparation for the sixty-eighth annual Hunger Games! However, before we get started, we a special video from the Capitol."

Everyone turns their attentions to the large screens that begin to play the special propaganda video about the history of the Hunger Games. I don't care about that. I've been watching it all my life. Instead, I turn my attention to the previous victors that sit up on the stage with the mayor and his family. There are six still alive, and we all know them, even if we weren't alive for their games or were too young to remember them now. My eyes fall on the most recent victor, Prota Franklin. She won the sixtieth games. However, I'm much more interested in Joule Osbourne, the victor of the fifty-first games. She was only fifteen when she won, and she did it by outsmarting every one of the other tributes. My parents told me that it had been a real art to see her plotting out what she would do. It was a shame that her old house burned down in a freak accident when she got home.

Ambrosia turns my attention back to her. "What a wonderful video! I never get tired of seeing it! Anyway, we're here today to select one young man and woman to compete in this year's Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor." She pauses a moment to smile at us. I'm not sure if she was expected to receive any in return, but she continued when she didn't get any. "Ladies first, of course." She approached the large bowl that held the folded up names of every girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Her hand floats above the sea of papers and picks one out at random. She takes it back over to the microphone and unfolds it.

"Lightning Watts."

I feel the world slip sideways as the blood falls from my head. Did I hear her correctly? Yes, I had to have. No one else moves from their spot except to look at me. I step slowly from my section and see Ian move toward me. He can't do anything, though, so I pretend that I don't see him. The walk to the stage feels like it takes forever. Peacekeepers are standing close to make sure... what? So that I don't run? My legs shake as I climb the steps and I can barely hear Ambrosia urging me up. I'm caught in a stupor of disbelief. So much for the odds, right?

"Congratulations, Miss Watts," she says with a smile. There is something in it, though, that makes me think she isn't being totally sincere. She seems to acknowledge the tears brimming in my eyes and knows what torture I will be put through. I'm not sure, though, and she immediately continues. "Now, for the boys." When she returns with a paper, it's all I can do not to scream. A loud, angry sob threatens to tear through my defenses and release itself on the people in this audience. "Cal Turbine."

I search desperately through the boys to find who it is that goes by that name. I want to know who I might have to... to kill in order to return home. The section of twelve-year-olds shuffles, and a small, dark-haired boy steps out. I feel my heart sinking when I see how terrified he looks.

I remember Ian. I remember all the strong faces that he has ever put on for my benefit, and I resolve to be that source of strength for this boy. This boy that has to die because his ancestors fought against an oppressive government. I straighten and thrust my chin up. All tears that were welling in my eyes disappear, and my knees find their strength. I can see Ian in the audience, who I assume has not yet taken his eyes off of me. He notices my strength and smiles back at me, knowing me well enough to know what has crossed my mind.

He is finally up the stairs, and Ambrosia begins anew. "Congratulations, Mister Turbine. Now, why don't you two shake hands?"

I turn to him and hold out my hand, determined to keep my countenance. He looks up at me with terror still in his eyes. His hand reaches for mine tentatively. As I take it, I smile softly and nod to him, letting him know that he will be okay, even though he knows that no one who participates in the games is ever okay. I think he finds comfort in my strength, though, because his grip tightens.

I guess it's begun.


	2. Goodbyes and Train Rides

I wait in a room in the Justice Building. I've been told that I'll get to say goodbye. The door opens, and my parents rush in. I embrace them and feel the tears return. "I'm so sorry, Lightning," my mother says. I remember that her close friend was reaped when they were just thirteen. Now, she has to lose another of the people she loves most to the Hunger Games. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Mom," I manage. I know that it isn't. She knows that it isn't. We silently agree to pretend that I'm right.

"I believe in you, honey," my father whispers in my ear. "If anyone can win, you can."

I can't tell if he's being sincere or just hopeful. Perhaps he really means it. Perhaps, just perhaps, I really can win this. "Yeah, Dad," I agree halfheartedly.

It seems as if no time at all has passed when a Peacekeeper opens up the door and tells my parents that it's time for them to leave. I give and receive a few last, furtive kisses for luck and love, and then my parents are carted away. I stand in the middle of the room, feeling exceedingly empty. It feels like forever before the door opens again, and Ian comes in. His smile is false, but it is still a comfort. He's still trying to make me feel better. This is who I must be for the sake of that small boy very nearly at death's door.

"Ian," I say, relief flooding my voice. I hadn't been sure they'd let me see him before I left.

"You can do this, Light," he says to me as we hug. We hold each other tightly, threatening pain but only delivering assurance. "You're so smart; you can win this if you really try."

I nod, if only for his benefit. "I'll try."

There is silence again. "You better come home to me. I mean-" he cuts himself off. "I mean you better come home to me. Okay?" 

"Okay," I agree.

He pulls back a little and inspects my face. At first, I think it's just so that he can memorize it, just in case. However, I decide otherwise when he kisses me on the forehead. Perhaps he was deciding what part of my face was the most appropriate. The forehead is good, I agree silently. I smile, donning my mask of confidence and assurance. He comes in for one more tight hug as soon as he hears the door opening. He ignores the Peacekeeper's pleas for a few moments before he lets me go and leaves the room, looking over his shoulder with a smile on his face.

I nod to him as the door shuts, and once again I'm left to myself. Luckily, it isn't for long, because the Peacekeepers call for me and lead me to a small car. Ambrosia is already waiting, and Cal is being led there too. The escort slides in to the middle seat, and Cal and I take the two window seats. I make sure that my face never falters. I will be strong for this boy.

Sitting is not comfortable, as the skirt of Ambrosia's dress is poofy and spilling over on to both of our laps. She chatters idly, and I think again that she may see through the mask of the Capitol. She doesn't say anything that makes me hate her or think her ignorant. She merely discusses what will happen to us. She doesn't offer private congratulations. She doesn't talk about how lucky we are for this honor. She doesn't praise the glamor and excess of the Capitol. She is frank in content but holds on to her gaudy appearance. I look into her eyes and try to ask this question of her. I'm not sure, because I can surely never be certain without a direct response, but I think she nods to me, confirming every unasked question that my eyes have dared to venture. I can see that she is beautiful underneath the ridiculous Capitol make-up and surgeries.

The train is large and expensive, and we are ushered on to it with the same rapidity that has accompanied the whole day. There in grandeur there that almost makes me sick. The Districts struggle for survival and the Capitol has this excess at its disposal. On the train, we are met with the previous victors. Teho Current steps toward us. "Congratulations," he says sarcastically. "Happy Hunger Games." He is large and strong with a square chin and large shoulders. His hair is short and brown, and his eyes are a similar color. He looks tired, though, and quite a bit older than he is. That seems to be a theme with Victors. I try not to notice.

I think that I can see Cal shaking beside me. "Thank you," I say, keeping my voice steady.

He raises an eyebrow. "Now, we'll be at the Capitol by noon tomorrow. When you're there, your real training will start. Every victor here will be able to give you advice and help you train, but you're allowed one main 'mentor' to help you. You can choose, or we can draw straws."

I look around and scrutinize all the victors sitting or standing in this car. My eyes fall on Joule.

"You're so smart; you can win this if you really try."

Ian was right. I was smart; it had always been my strongest attribute. Joule Osbourne had won her games by outsmarting the competition. I walk over to her tentatively. "If you'll do it, I'd like you to be my mentor," I say.

She looks into my eyes, appraising. She's looking for what I can do already. She's already assessing what she thinks will be my weaknesses and strengths. Perhaps she can see that I know what she's doing because she smiles down at me. "I'd be happy to." However, her voice tells the truth. She's tired. She's been a victor for too long. She's seen children come in year after year and never come out. Her advice isn't always enough. I suddenly find another person to win these games for. I don't want her to have to lose another tribute.

I turn my attention back to Cal. He looks around, but he turns quickly back to Teho. "Will you be my mentor?" he asks, and I can hear the shake in his voice.

Teho nods, knowing that it will be a useless cause. He knows that the best that he can do is to stall Cal's death. I raise my voice. "Is the footage available for us to watch the other reapings? Get an early view of our competition?"

I see a smile creep up on Joule. "I like this one," she says to her fellow victors.


	3. No Sleep Tonight

I sit in my bed, awake and knowing that sleep is an impossibility tonight. Every time I close my eyes, death is there. I have seen the death of every child that I have seen reaped today. Most of all, though, I see Cal's death. His blue eyes, now so full of terror, going dark as the life slips out of them. I try pacing, walking from one end of my room to the other, but it does nothing to soothe me.

I cannot stay here, not in this room that is bigger than my room in District 5 but still feels like it it closing in on me, so I open my door and walk down the hall. I don't expect the lights to be in on the car where I spent the afternoon, but it is. The victors are all sitting together, and they turn to me when they hear me approach. I see Storm, the oldest living victor of District 5, grab for a butter knife at the sound of my footsteps, and I swallow hard. The other victors look at each other and some dig into their pockets. I see flashes of money exchange hands as Prota beckons me over.

"Did you... bet on whether or not I was awake?" I ask, taking the seat beside her.

Teho scoffs. "Oh we knew you were awake," he says, waving a hand to dismiss the ridiculous notion of sleep.

"It was whether you would come out here or stay in your room," Peder explains with a frown on his face. I assume that he bet wrong.

"I just..." I start, but I can't put into words the feeling that being in that room had given me.

Joule nods. "We know," she says quietly. I know that they do. They're awake now because they remember.

"So," Prota says, "you watched the reapings. What did you learn?"

I am being tested, and I realize that I will not stop being tested until the Games are over. Everything that I do, every choice that I make, will be a test, and failing those tests can have lethal consequences. "No unexpected volunteers," I start, and there's relief in me as I think about this. "But, the District 4 girl didn't seem all that bothered with being reaped, so she's someone to watch out for."

"Some might say that about you, too," Storm says, and I see that he's put down the knife.

My eyes drop even though I don't want them to. "Not anyone who knows what to look for," I say, and my voice is barely a whisper.

"Anything else?" Joule presses, and I know that she understands.

"In general, it was a pretty old reaping," I continue, remembering how few young faces there were on those stages. There was Cal, both of District 12's tributes, and the boy from 9. "The girl from 9 looks sickly."

"Who do you see as your greatest competition?" Teho asks, and his head cocks to the side.

I think about that for a long moment. The careers are always to be feared, but they will take out whoever they see as their biggest threats first, so I may be able to get by for a while. District 7 had two older, strong tributes, and they could be a problem. Then there was the girl from 4 who seemed so confident that morning. Face upon face of tributes flashes before my eyes, and I can imagine ways that all of them might kill me. "Whoever's closest," I say finally.

There is quiet around the table, and I look nervously at the victors gathered there. This has been another test, one with more weight, it feels like, and I see that I have answered well. And maybe that's worse than a bad answer, because I think they've started hope, started to root for me even though they know the odds are still not in my favor.

Storm's hand goes for the knife again, and Ambrosia Maddox walks into the car. She sees me at the table and makes a face somewhere between amusement and disappointment. "Look at this: my victors keeping my newest tribute up all night. You all should be ashamed."

The group around the table smiles, and I see that this is a game we are all playing, Ambrosia included. The Hunger Games have already begun, and we haven't even reached the Capital.

"She came to us, Bros," Prota says, holding up her hands innocently. "Might as well start the mentoring now."

"Do we know who her stylist is going to be?" Joule asks, leaning over the table. I don't know that this is an important question, but Joule thinks so. Maybe it is the only real question she can ask of my escort.

"Rumor has it," Ambrosia says, taking the seat next to Storm, who again puts down the knife, "that that's been a bit of a scandal."

This intrigues the whole table. I am especially intrigued because the victors around me are implying that this does not happen often. "What does that mean?" Peder asks.

"Well, Adalheidis had District 5 before the reaping," the escort starts, and her purple eyes turn to me. "You know her work; she did 7 last year. The tree branches and plaid ensembles?" She leans in conspiratorially and admits, "You're better off without her. No one in the Capital liked it, and I can't believe she was able to come back this year." She waves that bit of Capital drama off and continues. "But then Oro Shear steps in, says she wants 5, won't have any other district. And coming off the stunning District 4 outfits last year? The absolutely ethereal scaled dresses? Well, right now, what Oro wants, Oro gets. There was a huge rearranging of stylists, Adalheidis wound up with 10 and now Oro has 5."

I never payed much attention to the ridiculous outfits the tributes were forced to wear in the days leading up to the games. It seemed to separate them from us further than the distance ever could. They stopped being members of the districts and became pets of the Capital. "Does that matter?" I ask, still unsure just how important my stylist was.

Joule leans in to me, her face absolutely serious. "Lightning, a stylist - a wildly popular stylist - just personally requested you." What she didn't need to say was that it was me and not Cal who was the desired tribute in this district. "That's incredibly important."

My face mustn't seem convinced because Ambrosia says, "Lightning, darling, the Capital is built on appearances. Making a good one in the days to come means winning the hearts of your viewers. The hearts of your viewers who might eventually be your sponsors."

There it is. If I look good in the days to come, someone in the Capital might spend their money to keep me alive. I nod. "That's good, then."

Ambrosia laughs, and I think there is a real happiness there, even if there is sadness below it. "That's great."


End file.
